Under the Pretense of Hope
by Elfwing-Angel
Summary: A view on the events of Lord of the Rings from the points of view of those other than the Fellowship, including family and friends. Read and Review would be great! Chapter two now up!
1. An Imeleth o Gwador

Under the Pretense of Hope INTRODUCTORY NOTES 

Thranduviel is a character I created because I love to create characters. Tolkien gave us so many great characters that creating one that meets that standard was a challenge. I needed a character that could face Tolkien's and have an independent and original viewpoint. Since I had created Thranduviel in the simplest sense for a previous work, building on her seemed to be a logical step. As you can tell, I also like to write long involved chapters. Read and Review if you please. This is the first serious FanFic I have ever had an audience read, and I enjoyed it far more than any of the parodies.

**Notes on Translation**: Any translated words with a * beside them are translated loosely and should not be read literally if you speak Elvish. Translations from Elvish to English are numbered [1a], [1b] and so on, with the chapter number, then sentence ID. Translations are found at the end of each chapter.

**DISCLAIMER**: I don't own any of these characters except Thranduviel- she's kind of my pet character and I used her to give a truly and utterly outside view. All other characters belong to Tolkien, and his estate. Any events or people in this fiction are fictional and any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental and non-intentional. Events and concepts are Tolkien's for the main point and mine in the rest of the points.

Any comments can be directed to the reviews or to my e-mail (in my profile).

To see more of Thranduviel, check out my website through my profile and find your way to the Disney Interlude.

Mistakes have now been mended… I think…

Chapter One: An i-meleth o Gwador [1A] Thranduviel Speaks 

I had been fixing the sheath on a pair of daggers when my youngest Brother returned from his talk from my father. The daggers had been a gift from my mother to her firstborn, and none had the heart to take them from me when Thranduil, my father, finally had a son. I was the only daughter in a family of six children, though I cannot believe I suffered a worse lot than my youngest brother. My brother closed the door behind him and stopped, standing still with his head hung. I took the daggers and sheaths in one hand and approached him, trying desperately to catch his gaze.

            "Man agor pêd?[1B]" I said, softly against the tears I could not help but release. I was scared for a reason I did not understand. He looked at me, his eyes wet with unreleased tears and filled with fear and sadness. Their depth, the impenetrable blue that formed the window to his soul told me something I had dreaded hearing since the day my brother was born; "He is sending you away."

            He turned away, no words left his mouth. I tried to breath back the tears. I had lost a brother in every war ever fought, the Last Alliance the hardest by far. However, to lose my youngest brother, the brother that I had looked after like a son, I could not stand it, "Man agor pêd? Trenaro enni![1C]"

            He began to walk, slowly, absently, toward to end of the hall, toward the hall that led toward the gates. I followed him, still carrying the daggers in one hand. As he seemed to notice me, he sped up, though never fast enough for me to lose step. He walked quickly through the corridors and halls, toward the side doors where the weaponry and horses were kept. I stopped at the door, the tears in my eyes finally covering them so much I could not see any longer, "Legolas, please."

            He turned slowly, his eyes the first to come around fully. They were as full as mine, the tears cascading over his eyelids and running down his face.

            "He is sending me to Rivendell, to give the message of Gollum's escape, and to offer my services to whatever cause Elrond may send me on"

            "Rivendell?" I did not know why that made me so scared. I could feel a crushing in my belly, some strange felling that only normally surfaced when the armies came home, "Legolas, what services will you need to offer?"

            He nodded slowly and began to ready the nearest horse, "Father told me that those responsible should be those to tell of our mistake."

            "You did not answer me."

            "Anything Lord Elrond requires." Legolas turned away from me again, finding a quiver and slinging it over his back. 

            I found another sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew somehow, there would be trouble, and the services rendered would be no small matter. "Ù tolthoch dan, ae gwannich*.[1D]"

            He shook his head, "Thranduviel, you cannot know that, no paths are ever so clear. I will return, after I have met with the Lord." I took the strap of his quiver and pulled it tight, buckling it in carefully. To the strap, I hooked the sheaths, clasping them closed. The daggers remained in my hands, and I stared at them intently. I knew he was wrong, in my heart I knew I would not see my brother again. Not even in the west, when Middle Earth was nothing but the memory of an unpleasant dream. I closed my eyes against the tears, but could not hold them. I felt a warm touch on my skin, removing my tears.

            "Why does Rivendell worry you so?"

            "I do not know. I just do not feel comfortable, it breeds ill omen."

            "The stories say no less of Mirkwood. Or do you blame Elrond for all our grievance?"

            I handed the nearest bow to him, running a finger down the string to check the tension, and for any excuse to hold him here a moment longer.

            "I do not blame Elrond." I moved my eyes to his hand and took it off my face.

            "Then I must go." He took the bow from me and took the reins of his horse. In a swift, single movement, he mounted and started the Horse off, through the open end of the cave. I did not think for a moment. I could not watch him leave, not like that. I stuck the daggers through the fabric of my dress, scratching my legs but holding the blades in place. I took to the nearest horse and mounted, using the mane as reins. With a kick, I rode out, past the guards and trees that lined the small entrance. He was still in sight, his white horse streaming through the trees at speed. I followed, followed with an intent I never thought I would have in my life. I screamed for him to stop. We were heading through the shadowed regions, through toward the Misty Mountains and Rivendell. There was something different about the trees here. They were twisted and evil, they spoke with hatred. Now I could feel it for certain, the shadow was moving.

            "Legolas, stop." I called, the tears breaking through my voice. His horse slowed, but continued on, toward the last two trees of the grove. Without thinking, I tore the daggers from my dress, twisting them into a better grip and gaining momentum. 

            "Yavanna díheno enni [1E]." With a cry I threw them as hard as I could, sending them shooting through the thick forest air. I stopped the horse steady, waiting for some sound. The unmistakable sound of splintering wood hit my ears, a moan of death coming from the trees in which the daggers had imbedded. The white horse and its rider stopped and turned, "Hebich ti[1F]." _Please, Legolas, just take them._ There was a pause for a moment, stillness and a great tension. He reared his horse and turned it, ripping the daggers from the trees. He sheathed them as he rode, and I waited, watching him leave. As he moved from sight, I turned my horse and rode home, faster than I had come.

            "Why could you not send one of the guards? Why did you have to send him?" I had begun talking before the door opened, so much was running through my head I could not control it.

            "Thranduviel, do you have no sense?"

            "Answer me."

            "A guard would never have sufficed. There is no gesture in sending those who do not matter." My father refused to meet my gaze. He was bitter; I knew that all along, bitter because my mother had given her life to give Legolas life. It was rare for such things to occur.

            "You cannot blame him for what was done here. You cannot blame him for my mother. He is not Feanor."

            Father looked up, his eyes full with both tears and contempt, "I never thought he was. Whose son would you have me send, Thranduviel? I could have sent no other."

            "I would have you send a message alone, no offer of service you know he will not return from." I could feel the blood from the dagger wounds run down my skin, soak into my dress, "You will never see him again. Will you send none with him?"

            My father stood suddenly, pacing the floor, wandering silently up and down the hall. One of my brothers came into the room, but stopped as he reached the doorway.

            "Would you have me send one of your other brothers? Would you give their lives away? I have lost two sons to the wars of this age already, Thranduviel." My father turned and walked away. I was too shocked to speak, so unsure what he meant, so desperate to know. I sank into a nearby chair, barely able to breathe, "Then why did you not send me?" Thranduilion came to me quickly, half at a run. The Elf that had entered with him followed my father. Thranduilion sat beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

            "He will return."

            I could not stay within the halls, I had to get outside. The fear gripped at my chest, it was not just my brother that worried my. The shadow that covered the woods was moving, moving to join that which was building beyond, in the East. The war would be long; they always were, when they concerned Sauron. For Sauron it was, it was no longer just rumor. Mithrandir would not have come if it were some lesser being. I walked slowly to the two grove trees, the dagger splits in them still, the bark splintering around the breaks, the splintered wood lying on the ground. I ran my hands down each trunk, feeling the surface of the tree listening to the sounds it made. The trees understood, they were not angry. I held my hands on the holes; I closed my eyes, holding a breath for a long moment. The gift of healing came to be rare, to the sons and daughters of those who were great. I did not know why I could do it, but below my hands, the bark felt suddenly warm, and carefully, without sound or feeling from the trees, the wood sealed. The scars would remain, and the trees would take many years to heal fully. They were not lost. I moved to the threshold of the hillock the edge of the woods sat upon, looking toward the mountains, to where Gollum had come from and many an Elf may go. Toward the west, where the seas were, and where only in dreams I would ever go. I felt someone behind me, a hand touching me lightly on the arm.

            "What did he mean, Thranduilion? Why did he say that as if he did not care if Legolas lived or died?" I took my brother's arm. Thranduilion was born only fifty years after me, he had seen most all of what I had, and he understood my father.

            "I do not know, Sister. I feel that perhaps it is not what you may think. I do not think he does not care, nor do I think he means to say he does not think of him as his son. Our brother will return."

            "How can you be sure?" I stared at the distant hills, I knew that what my father says was never to be taken literally, that nothing he said was ever without need of interpretation, but my mind seemed to refuse to believe it. How could it be that Thranduil would send his son away while he hides in a cave?

            "Because our father trusts us all, Thranduviel." Thranduilion let go of my arm, moving now to the threshold, standing beside me, "But most of all, he trusts you."

^*^*^

**Next Chapter:** 'Dreamer's Influence' Viewpoint: Faramir

Read and Review, if you please.

Translations 

1A: "For the Love of a Brother"

1B: "What did he say?"

1C: "What did he say? Tell me!"

1D: "You will not come back, if you leave"

1E: "Yavanna forgive me."

1F: "Keep Them"


	2. Dreamer's Influence

Chapter Two: Dreamer's Influence 

For Disclaimer and introductory notes, see Chapter One.

The poem throughout this chapter belongs to JRR Tolkien, taken from the chapter "The Council of Elrond". I don't pretend I wrote it, and neither should you. The one line that was quoted from the movie in this fiction is copyrighted to Peter Jackson and co and is from the extended edition of Two Towers.

From now on, events in the story are based on both book and movie, with the main emphasis on the book. I've tried to fit movie events into the book as best I can, but some were best left out for consistency (such as Elves in Helm's Deep)

Faramir Speaks 

July 4, 3018, Third Age

_Seek for the Sword that was Brocken:_

_In Imladris it dwells_

            "You cannot follow my path for me, brother."

            "No, but I may follow it for myself." Boromir clamped his hand on my shoulder; "Our father has sent me to Imladris, not you."

            "But the dream was mine before it was yours, you should stay to captain the armies against the growing shadow." The shadow had grown steadily in the month since it had found Mordor, after it had left Mirkwood and grown into the powers that surrounded Minas Morgul and Cirith Ungol. The dreams had come to me, not by accident. It was no mere coincidence that the dreams had come with the shadow. Isildur's Bane, whatever it may be, was back.

            "You are as good a Captain as I, Faramir. Our father has sent me, and I shall go. I will see what the answers may be."

            I knew there was no stopping Boromir, not when he had it in mind to do something. He was as stubborn as our father, and often as proud. I picked up his sword and handed it to him, the hilt aimed toward his chest, "Then luck and all speed be with you, Brother." I accompanied him to the stables and helped him to his horse. With a careful hand, I passed him the Horn of Gondor, the symbol of his status as the son of a Steward, the keeper of Gondor, and so they would remain until the breaking of the world. Many had lost hope for the returning of Isildur's heir, and though I had not given up the hope that one day he would come forward, I had the fear that it would not happen in my life days. 

_"Remember this day, little brother."_

As I watched my brother leave, and saluted him for luck as well as respect, I could not help but wonder whether he would ever run the Kingdom of Gondor, or if the shadow would rule us and only the Dwarves and fabled races such as Halfings would stand free.

            "Captain Faramir?" Parn's voice echoed through my mind and through the crowded hall of a barracks in Osgiliath, filled with sleeping men drunk on ale. I felt that I would never get used to the idea of Captain Faramir, "A message has come, from the Elves, Sir, from Mirkwood."

            I turned to Parn slowly, "Parn, Why did you not take it to my father?" I took the small piece of parchment from him and looked at it. The writing was thin and gentle. It was as delicate as spun gold and as beautiful as anything I had seen.

            "The messenger said the Lady left request for it to go to you or your brother, no other."

            _Lady?_ "Thank you, Parn, return to your post." I turned the parchment in my hand before I concerned myself with what was written. It looked rougher than most Elvish parchment. I had heard tales of Mirkwood, as bad as Lothlòrien, if not worse. The shadow may have moved from there, but there was no proof that it did not still hold sway. I traced the first letter of the paper, written in my own language;

_Lords Boromir and Faramir of Gondor,_

_Rumor has reached me of strange visions you have received in your dreams. Is it that these rumors are true, or simply tales concocted to explain the movement of the shadow and to attempt to begin a prophecy about that is the hope of your people? I, Thranduviel, daughter of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, have also felt omen of a new coming. It is not my place to discuss what is known to me of Isildur's Bane, or the heir to Gondor, but I am inclined to tell you this; my brother has been sent to Imladris to consult with the Lord Elrond. Since I believe men to be far wiser than I believe many of my people do, I know you to have sent a man also, if not one of yourselves. My brother left knowing nothing of the omens I felt, but to you I offer this wisdom: A war comes, and your lands and mine will be the first to receive it._

_Nothing is, or will be as it was._

            There was more to the note that I could not bring myself to read. Perhaps, I thought, it was simply more I already knew, or news of ill omen. I gathered my fingers are around the paper and squeezed, stopping myself only when my fingers met the palm of my hand. I would have tossed the parchment away, into one of the fires that burned in the hall, but something kept me from it, something drew me to scrunch it tighter and slip it in my sheath, between the blade and the leather.

_There shall be counsels taken_

_Stronger than Morgul-spells._

            I woke suddenly, the horns blowing in my ears and the men of arms running by my door. The dream had come again, and now that my brother was gone, I was Captain and what was to happen to Gondor was to fall on my shoulders.

            "Captain Faramir, there is movement in the black lands. Your father wishes you to call your men to Minas Tirith immediately."

            _My father wishes nothing of the sort. Would that I had fallen in the first battle! _I rose slowly and took hold of my sword. I dragged myself up, my soldier's sense dimmed by mead and pipe smoke, "Do they attack our lands?"

            "Not yet, sir, but by all accounts, they come near."

            I pulled my tunic and jerkin over my head, reaching roughly for my breastplate, "Does my father not understand I am needed here?" I pulled my breastplate on and took up my cloak and bow.

            "Wake the men, Parn, we best not keep my father waiting."

_There shall be shown a token_

_That doom is near at hand,_

            "Faramir, your dream has been heard by many of us, and none can give you answers. You must now wait for your brother's return, when you may hear what has been told by the Elves of this matter."

            I shook my head; my father remained silent as Parn spoke as freely as he dared. The stewards were a long proud line, and while the people waited still for the King of whom the stories and songs spoke, the guards were finding the Stewards sufficient. This, at the very least, was what we were told, "The Elves will not help to hold Osgiliath."

            "Elves! The Elves would see us serve them, would see the Bane in their hands and the heir as one corrupted into their service." My father seemed to hold more contempt for them than for me. Perhaps I should have taken more note of who was not held by him as unworthy.

            Parn seemed to ignore my father, "If the answers come to us soon, Captain, they may not have to." In one thing, I knew Parn agreed; Osgiliath was the front line. If it fell again, their doom was finally at hand.

            "What answers of banes and swords may help us?" My father said, shaking his head loosely, "Isildur's Bane came close to destroying the Last Alliance, the will of Sauron was then not undone and there seems to be little hope that it shall be undone now."

            I moved to my father's side, "But what of the prophecy, father, of the return of Isildur's heir?"

            My father turned and looked to me, his eyes empty and lost, and not for the first time, he looked to me with true contempt, "That would be your wish would it? To have our line end and wither without gain to fall to some northerner who knows nothing of our ways. Would you see your own house fall to servitude?"

            "I would only have our people restored to glory. The glory of the days gone when men truly were great." I gripped the hilt of my sword instinctively. To stand before my father as he spoke to me like a child was becoming something I came to expect. As I moved my hand, I heard the soft rustle of parchment. I had not needed to draw my sword in many days, and had forgotten the small paper I had stuffed within it. I took out the paper, and parted the crushed edges.

            "I received a strange message, the night my brother left," I began, reading ahead the second half of the note, "The note was meant for me and my brother, claiming rumor has traveled of my visions. It seems rumor travels far, though I am not surprised in it. The messenger also claims…" My words caught in my throat as I read what I myself was about to say, disbelief in my eyes as the dark ink made the hair-thin letters strike me from the very page. I had suppress the memory of who had written the strange words somehow, perhaps then I had thought it un-important, "She says that in the last refuge of men, our line will give way, and the Eye shall cause great men to fall."

            "She? Faramir, do you have some lover you have said naught of? Does your brother?"

            I shook my head, stopping myself before I read on, hoping that what she had written was nothing more than the whim and fancy of a girl too short in the world to know what was best. Somehow, I knew that was impossible, "She is an Elf, the daughter of the Lord of Mirkwood."

            "The princess of Mirkwood? She I have heard about, and heard of all too much. She may be the only one of that sorry place with sense enough to draw herself from the veil her father holds his children to, but she speaks only in riddles of omens and hopeless causes, so the men who know of that family say. It is from that land this accursed shadow comes. Ill omens from ill places can only mean that worse is to happen than even Elvish riddles allow," Beregond, on of Minas Tirith's tower guards, in charge of escorting some of my rangers to the armory, spoke out as he crossed the floor, a small group of men in his wake. He made his exit before I had chance to retaliate. True, the message was unknown and uncalled for, but for a fleeting moment I felt there was more to it than simple riddles. I read the final lines again, pondering whether to speak them or not.

Those the Bane does not corrupt, it makes stronger, and those it does not strengthen die in a veil of shadow and confusion. The bane came once to Mirkwood, and here the shadow came. If the bane comes then to Gondor, there then shall sit the shadow.

I folded the parchment; the last lines had spoken nothing I did not already know. It would be for the better if none of this were spoken to my father or Parn. My father nodded in agreement with Beregond, and without tact, took from me the folded paper.

            "What use is the writing of an Elf-witch against the swords or Orcs? What good is all your knowledge against the shadow, Faramir? Where can prophecies of the Elves lead but to confusion and a longing for the depths of the sea, to where they laugh at our mortality and hope that we should die from the earth before their presence fades away." My father tossed the paper into the small oil dish that burned dimly by his seat. I told myself he was right, that none could know what was in store, not even Elves, and that her pessimism was down to where she lived and the shadow faced there. I stared sadly at the fire, wishing I could read the words again so to be sure of their meaning, though in the dim light the few words I could read were of little importance, and of most I could remember nothing. The paper peeled itself open, revealing writing on the back that I had not noticed, which seemed to lighten in the firelight and glow like strange and wonderful magic. The letters formed, first in the Elvish letters I had seen as a boy, written in the language I had tried but failed to learn. Below, in letters thick and written in gold, in the same gold I had seen on the filigree work of ancient Elvish weapons words I had seen in my dreams, night after night, shaped and toiled by the strange visions of a dying Numenor:

_For Isildur's Bane shall waken,_

And the Halfling forth shall stand 

I decided then that the message held some truth, though was useless to me without specific details, as useless as my dream. I the very least my dream had given a place, she had given little detail. I cursed myself for clouding my mind with drink after reading the first of the letter, for I remembered nothing of it, and the second half spoke of what we all feared in our hearts- Gondor's fall. We were all in for something far greater than any of us, and none knew what would happen, but there was one certain thing; nothing would remain as it was. Boromir had been gone but a fortnight and yet a deep foreboding found me. He would not yet have reached Rivendell, and perhaps would not until October, and when he did, questions would be answered, and questions that are more difficult would arise.

            For all our struggles, and our trials, even in Sauron's defeat, the Shadow would prevail.

**Next Chapter: **"Maiden of the Golden Ale" **Viewpoint:** Rosie Cotton

Note: Chapters will get longer, once we get into the story.

Is it slightly less than likely Faramir would receive a letter from Legolas's sister? Well, just think of it this way, the line in the film "Here lies the answer to all the riddles." Also meant her letter, as well as the dreams. All will be explained about her role in time, though people do have a tendency to forget even the most important things…


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